[Thursday, February 25, 11:00]
Flack pulled up to the curb in front of Juliana's apartment. A short brown building, a little run down, but sturdy enough. He checked his watch. 11:17. Good, he was early. He got out and made sure all the doors were locked before walking around the car to lean against the passenger door. He checked his watch. 11:18. Yup, still early. The man shook himself. Checking his watch wasn't going to make Juliana appear any sooner. He looked up to see a group of young men huddled together on the corner, talking amongst themselves behind their hands. Two were eyeing his watch, a third, his car. Boys like that were everywhere in this dangerous neighbourhood. That's why he had made a point of locking his doors, even though he was standing right next to his car. He wasn't a clueless tourist from Colorado, but apparently these guys still needed some deterring. Flack turned towards the group, sticking a thumb into his belt loop in a way that moved his jacket just enough for the late morning sun to glint off his badge.
Instantly, one of them punched another in the arm, saying, "Bro, let's get outta here." In a few short seconds, the young men cleared off. The one who had been eyeing Flack's car was the last to turn on his heel.
Flack bet he would arrest that one within the next three years. Too much guts, not enough brains. His watch said 11:19 now.
"Were you waiting long?" Juliana asked as she emerged from the building. If he was in a hurry, he should have called to let her know he had arrived.
"No, not at all." He unlocked the door and held it open for her.
She paused, trying to decide whether she believed him. She had learned that Americans lied in their pleasantries to make each other feel better. And when anyone asked how you were, the correct answer was 'good'. Not even the grammatically correct 'well'.
He didn't have to be a cop to guess what she was thinking. She had one of those expressive faces. "It's been three minutes since I pulled up," he reassured her.
Satisfied with his strangely precise answer, and eager to get out of the cold, she climbed in. She buckled her seatbelt and politely hid a yawn.
Flack pulled out his phone and took a few steps from his car. "Dan-o, how's our boy Miller doing?"
Danny blew out his cheeks and rolled his eyes. "He admitted to being the visa application graveyard, but he says he's just followin' the rules."
"How long did you sweat him?" He was hoping John Miller would crack with enough pressure. Then he could spare Juliana the whole ordeal.
"Not long but the heat's been on high the whole time."
"That's for sure," Lindsay muttered, beside him. She had never seen Danny grill someone so hard over a partial print and workplace gossip. She shouldn't be surprised that Flack had something to do with it. He and Danny had been friends long before she moved to New York.
"How much longer you gonna be?" Danny asked. "You know I'm game to help you out but Adam's covering for both of us until we get back." And Adam was a very tenuous cover the moment Mac entered the room.
"Okay, twenty minutes tops. Give him a little more then back off like you believe him. I'll be there soon." He hung up and climbed into his car.
At the sound of the door closing, Juliana opened her eyes and sat up straighter in her seat.
"You okay?" Flack ventured cautiously. "You look... uh... tired." Oh fantastic. A great lead off for small talk. You look tired. In fact, she looked exhausted. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes and a droop to her features that even her dark mascara couldn't distract from. "I can assign a patrol unit to you," he said, turning towards her. "They'll keep an eye on you, make sure you're safe."
There it was again, the flawless detective work. Juliana shook her head. "I can fall asleep. It's staying asleep that is the problem." She nodded at his watch. "We should go. You seem like you're in a hurry," she changed the subject.
Flack pursed his lips but started the engine. She didn't know, but wrangling a patrol unit for her was going to be a neat trick with her refusal to provide a statement. Besides, she was right, he did have to get going.
Juliana turned to look out the passenger window, her sigh fogging up the glass. By the time they arrived at the precinct, she had nodded off.
Traffic had been good, he could give her another five minutes' rest. Flack parked as smoothly as he could. But as soon as the engine shut off, she woke. "We're here," he announced.
The woman stretched and went to rub her eyes but stopped halfway, remembering her mascara. She covered another yawn and followed Flack through the doors to his desk. She sat in the visitors' chair, looking around at all the bustling activity. Navy blue uniforms everywhere, some questionable-looking people in handcuffs, and a phone ringing every 5 seconds.
He cleared some space on his desk and tried to corral some stray pens, wishing he'd thought to tidy up before he left earlier. He sat down heavily opposite her. "Ready?"
"No," she said meekly.
"You'll be okay. Danny's gonna walk him all the way to the door and I'm right here." The man looked at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. It was entirely too thin for the weather, but her thick jacket was probably the one in their evidence boxes. Most importantly though, it had a hood. "Put your hood up and keep your head down."
She did, trying to tuck her blonde waves out of sight.
He handed her the complaint form and a pen. "Fill this out. With fake info. You can say someone stole your purse or something," Flack suggested. Just as well. She hadn't brought a purse with her today. "Whatever you do, just keep writing. Even if this is the guy. Pretend you're just here to report your stuff stolen. We'll talk after he's gone."
She nodded timidly and tried to still her hand as she wrote 'Wilhelmina' as a fake first name. Last name. Van der Bijl. Er, no. Smith.
The detective dialed Danny. "Okay, we're set. Walk him out."
"You got it," came the reply. Danny appeared with a plain-looking guy, one hand on his elbow, escorting him through the general disarray of the precinct. Danny's other hand was waving around, as per usual, as he apologized for the hassle and explained that the boss insisted every possible lead be taken seriously.
Before the pair had even reached his desk, Flack decided he didn't like John Miller. John's face had a forced bored expression, but his eyes kept flicking to the door. His shoulders were slouched but his free hand kept shifting between hanging by his side and his pocket. As Danny slowed to a stop beside the desk, Flack's gut declared John Miller guilty.
Danny turned to face John, taking a strategic step to block Juliana's hunched figure. "Y'know John, can I just say, thank you for your work." He put a hand over his heart. "My mama came over from Italy when she was young, and she busted her back so I could live the American dream. And without you, and your buddies at the visa office, she wouldn't be here and neither would I."
"Yeah, yeah. All in a day's work," John said, flashing a smile.
"God, I can't believe people go around spray paintin' 'dirty immigrant' on walls," Danny said disgustedly. "Immigrants are-"
"Filthy immigrant," John corrected him.
Flack's gaze snapped to Juliana.
She stopped writing. Pen poised at the end of her last letter, trailing off in a line as her hand tightened in a white-knuckled grip. A cold prickle ran down her spine and the hairs on her arms started standing up. Her heart pounded in her ears and her breathing was shallow and reedy. Don't move. Don't move. Oh God. What was she supposed to be doing? The hand holding the pen started to tremble.
Flack knew, right away. This was the guy. John Miller had stabbed Juliana. Slowly, he lifted one finger off the table, praying she would get the message. She looked ready to bolt and he needed her to stay put. At least until Miller was further away. The excruciating seconds ticked by. Juliana's breathing was becoming increasingly desperate. And noticeable. Blessedly, Danny took Miller's elbow again and kept moving. The moment Miller set foot outside the doors, Flack's finger fell.
Juliana fled, taking off down the nearest hallway. She rounded corners at random, everything a blur. She didn't care where she was going, as long as it was far away from the voice from her nightmares.
"Wait-!" But she didn't stop. "I got it, I got it," he said, waving off his peers as he hurried after her. Two corners later, an officer standing guard outside an interrogation room pointed the way. Flack finally found her in a dead-end hallway, her back pressed against the wall and the cheap pen gripped in one hand like she was ready to stab someone with it. He raised his hands slowly showing that they were empty. "Hey. It's me."
The woman looked at him through her tears, shaking. "H-he," she sobbed.
"I know," Flack said softly. He took a careful step towards her, holding his breath. "He's gone. You're safe now."
She dropped the pen with a clatter and sank down the wall, burying her face in her hands. Did she do anything but cry when Flack was around? She was so useless. Her fear was useless. Yet her racing heart refused to slow. The woman tried to stifle her sobs with her trembling hands.
Flack closed the distance between them, kneeling in front of her. "He's gone," he repeated. He reached out a hand - stopped - he shouldn't. He was getting very close to a line in the sand. And he knew firsthand how there was no going back once lines were crossed. Screw it. Flack eased himself down beside her, sitting on the cold floor. Gently, he put his hand on her knee.
She grateful for the warmth of his touch. He was being sensible, really. Calming her down enough to hold a simple conversation. But her time in America had been lonely. Was it so bad to accept comfort if he offered it?
Throwing caution to the wind, he took down the hood of her jacket. Her blonde hair tumbled out and he tucked a piece behind her ear. "You're okay," he said reassuringly. Flack put his arm around her shoulders, being careful to avoid the spot where her wounds were. She inched towards him hesitantly. He rubbed her arm, letting her know that he wasn't going anywhere. She let out a shaky breath and leaned against him. He sat with her, the cold from the floor seeping into his legs as her fear ebbed away. The hall was quiet, no words needed for the silent understanding between them.